


just a little bit of liquid luck

by jolie_unfiltrd



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post Canon, But These Two Are In Their Own Party, Colleagues - Freeform, Drunkenness, F/M, JQQF, Jolie's Quarantine Quick Fics, Post-Hogwarts Reunion Party, Workplace Fantasies, Workplace Romance Not At Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:01:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23914990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolie_unfiltrd/pseuds/jolie_unfiltrd
Summary: Hermione gets drunk, and tells Draco a secret.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 11
Kudos: 224





	just a little bit of liquid luck

**Author's Note:**

> i present the next of my quarantine quick fics (QQF?) (this should not be an abbreviation) - this one brought to you by an existential crisis, a whole life-load of uncertainty, and some free time this week to fantasize about my original OTP from the first fandom i ever loved: HP. thanks for bringing me to AO3, good old HP fanfic. well, really, to fanfiction.net and THEN to AO3, but whatever. 
> 
> thanks for reading, and as always, feel free to come fangirl with me over draco malfoy's chiseled jawline and hermione's hair and basically a zillion other things at [my tumblr: jolieunfiltrd](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jolieunfiltrd) <3 
> 
> ~stay safe & wash yo hands~

It wasn’t as if she meant for things to happen this way.

In fact, if she had had her way, this would have never happened.

But Fate, or rather, a round of doubles at the bar with Ginny, had other plans.

Lascivious plans. 

And so, instead of keeping this secret buried snugly underneath her sternum for the rest of her waking life, she had drunkenly sidled up to a bemused Draco Malfoy, tracing a finger down his sharply pressed shirt as she sipped her drink and hiccupped out, “I think you should fuck me.”

Malfoy, to his credit, only halfway coughed on his whiskey – a muggle drink, she noted approvingly, though half the people at this bar were drinking muggle whiskey. Throw the whole lot of Hogwarts alumni into one room, and people were bound to need some extra libations to smooth the way.

“Granger?” he said, lowly, eyeing her suspiciously, in a tone that sounded very much like _excuse me_ and much less like the enthusiastic _hell yes_ that she had hoped for, in the darkest deepest cavern of her dreams _. Ah, well._

“Malfoy?” she replied, deepening her voice to match his, before flicking his nose and laughing at the affronted look on his face.

“Granger,” he said more firmly, clearing his throat as he tilted his head, grey eyes narrowed down at the petite witch rocking on her heels in front of him. “If you had to get absolutely knackered to tell me that you wanted it, then you don’t actually want to,” he sighed, ignoring that this was his third glass of whiskey in the last hour and perhaps he didn’t have a leg upon which to stand.

Hermione snorted. “You think I wanted to do this completely sober?” She rolled her eyes and poked him firmly in the chest, whispering furiously and watching the way his eyes traced the flush spreading across her collarbone. “I have to see you _every day_ , Malfoy. You’d reject me and we’d have another meeting an hour later and I cannot sit through another meeting with you ruining my knickers but knowing you would never touch me!”

Hermione was grateful she had had the mental fortitude to remember to whisper about such salacious things in a corner of a room filled with her erstwhile classmates and ex-boyfriends and tattle-tale redheaded friends (singular) who had been taunting her about this particular crush for what amounted to a few years, give or take seven.

Malfoy was also grateful, because her skirt had ridden up those delicious thighs another inch, and the neckline of her blouse was dangerously close to indecent. “Ruining your knickers,” he murmured, raising an eyebrow. “Granger, whatever _do_ you think about during our meetings.”

“You want a play-by-play?” she asked, cheeks blooming red even as she continued bravely forward, stepping forward until they were toe to toe once more. “An itinerary of my fantasies? And do you want it alphabetical, or by subject matter?”

Malfoy stared at her for a second, eyes wide at her return volley, before reaching a hand towards her and immediately pulling it back to his side, clenching his fingers into a tight fist. “Just tell me your favorite,” he suggested, casting an disillusionment charm in one quick movement, before stepping backwards so he was even more drenched in shadow.

Hermione stumbled forward as she followed him gladly into the darkness, watching the way his eyes darkened to near searing. She shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as her heart was pounding in her chest, even as her thighs brushed together and her fingertips trembled with the temptation to touch herself, to touch him, to twine her fingers in his hair. “It changes,” she said casually.

“What was yesterday’s fantasy, Granger?” His thumb had resumed tracing circles on the side of his glass and she couldn’t seem to take her eyes away from the relentless circles, couldn’t seem to stop imagining what it would feel like against her skin.

Hermione swallowed heavily, cheeks flushing as she averted her gaze.

“Oh, so the lady does blush,” he murmured.

Molasses-brown eyes flashed indignantly his way, before groaning and covering her face with her hands. “I knew it,” she said. “You think I’m some – some – wanton _hussy_.”

“Hussy?” Malfoy tried very hard to keep the laughter from his voice. “Certainly not.”

She dared to peek out from behind her fingertips as he continued, voice gravelly in the shadows, grey eyes daring her to look away from his searing gaze.

“But wanton… that has yet to be seen.”

His eyes traced the soft curve of her throat as she swallowed, as she squirmed, as her blush bloomed even brighter on her pale cheeks.

“Against the window in your office,” she near-whispered into her hands.

Malfoy took the requisite two seconds to picture his office at the Ministry, next to Hermione’s, but with a window into the atrium that he’d won after their last interdepartmental contest. The window was floor to ceiling, and enchanted to be invisible from the atrium’s view.

He also took the requisite six seconds that it took for his brain to jumpstart after he pictured her, breasts pressed against the glass, trim wool skirt hiked above her hips as he thrust lazily into her. It was one of many fantasies he had had about the swot next door, but this one was a particular favorite of his.

She seemed emboldened by the hitch in his breath, the way his grip on his drink tightened, and bit her lip, before continuing on: “Thursday, I thought about climbing onto your desk and straddling your chair, showing you that – like every other day the past month – I’d worn nothing but garters underneath.”

Hermione took a distinct pleasure in the flush of his cheeks. “Wednesday, I wanted you to bend me over the desk in my office and fuck me until I couldn’t remember my name.”

His nostrils flared as he held impossibly still, so close that she could watch the color of his eyes darken to mercurial grey.

“Tuesday,” she continued, watching the way he watched her lick her lips, “I wondered how long it would take to come apart on your tongue, if you’d be amendable to my thighs around your ears and my hands in your hair.”

Malfoy seemed unable to resist the terrible temptation of having her close, and reached out to grab her by the hand, pulling her even closer to him; his hand was warm and comforting and she wanted it absolutely everywhere at the same time. “And Monday?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, a smile dancing around the corners of her mouth. “Monday, I was home recovering from the Swedish Snortblack Sniffles, as you well know, considering _you’re_ the one that gave them to me.”

He threw back his head and laughed – a genuine laugh, one that she hadn’t heard before they started working together and that she was beginning to enjoy more and more. “That’s right.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Do you think you’re still contagious? Because personally, you look a little flushed. Maybe you need to go back to bed.”

A wicked grin crossed Hermione’s face. “Only if you join me.”

“Gladly,” he growled, before finally lowering his head to claim her lips in a bruising, all-consuming kiss, his arms wrapped possessively around her waist. Distantly, she thought she heard the sound of glass shattering, but she was too busy pulling up the back of his shirt to finally run her hands across his bare skin to notice or care, too busy drowning in the taste of him and trying to take note of every detail.

The taste of whisky and mint, the surprising softness of his hair between her fingertips, the warm curve of the muscles of his back as his hands migrated to the curve of her arse and into the depths of her hair.

His long, delicate fingers would get tangled in her curls, but she wasn’t going to tell him that; if he couldn’t have figured that out from the ten plus years of knowing her and watching the great heights her hair could reach, then he wasn’t truly as smart as she suspected, and this entire foray into the darkness was a waste of time.

Malfoy turned them until she was pressed up against the wall, her legs spread and her skirt dangerously high across her hips. It wasn’t until he had pressed half-a-dozen kisses to the curve of her throat, until he had murmured deliciously sinful ideas into the shell of her ear, until she had looked around and realized that they were still in the corner of Hannah Abbott’s bar, under a rapidly fading disillusionment spell.

They were in the shadows, sure, and in the corner where no one was likely to see them, okay – but her hair was distinctive, his was a fucking beacon in the dark, and it was extremely unlikely that they escaped without at least one person noticing them canoodling in the corner.

Hermione snorted at the word - _canoodling_ – before lifting Malfoy’s head from its delightful position at her collarbone. “You promised me a bed. I don’t care where that bed is, but we need a bed.” She took in his rumpled hair and disheveled shirt and the sheer _want_ in his eyes, and promptly reconsidered. “Okay, or a flat surface literally anywhere but in the corner of a crowded bar with all our friends.”

“You don’t get off on that, Granger?” He smirked, even as he straightened up and tucked back in his shirt.

“Strangers? Sure,” she shrugged, ignoring the look of disbelief. “But our friends? No, I’d rather not have a screaming match with Ron or Harry tonight, thanks.”

Malfoy grimaced, and slung his jacket over her shoulders. “I have an apartment,” he said quietly, answering her questioning gaze. “Is that okay?”

Hermione offered him a genuine smile. “Yes,” she replied. “Let’s go.”


End file.
